


Emergency Contact

by whumphoarder



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitals, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Bros, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, MIT Era, Pre-Canon, Roommates, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Whump, Vomiting, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Comments: 171
Kudos: 798
Collections: IronHusbands, Tony Stark Has A Heart (deal with it)





	Emergency Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frostysunflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/gifts).



> Many thanks to [xxx-cat-xxx](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) and [sallyidss](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) for beta reading, encouragement, and ideas, and to [frostysunflowers](https://frostysunflowers/) for your enthusiasm! :D

It’s not that James _disliked_ his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. 

To be fair, the skinny five-foot-four prepubescent kid who’d walked into James’ dorm on move-in day didn’t _look_ much like a college student, nor was he lugging in cardboard boxes and duffle bags filled with crap like the rest of the freshmen in the hall. There was no air of excitement and trepidation to him—no telltale buzz of new experiences. Not to mention, James had spent the majority of his summer away at Air Force ROTC camp, cut off from most forms of media and therefore oblivious to the rumors that Howard Stark’s infamous fifteen-year-old child prodigy was set to start his engineering course at MIT the very same semester that he was. It was hardly his fault for not recognizing the kid.

Even so, he probably shouldn’t have addressed Tony as ‘champ’ and asked if he was there to drop off an older sibling. That was on him. 

What was _not_ on James, however, was the fit Stark pitched at the resident assistant’s office upon realizing that his father had evidently not set him up with a single room after all.

“So move me then,” the little twerp demanded. “Just put it on the old man’s bill—he’s got the money. I didn’t just live through the last seven years of boarding school dormitories only to have to keep sharing the fucking bathroom in college.” He glanced over his shoulder at James, before adding, offhandedly, “No offense—I’m sure you’re swell.”

James huffed out a short, ironic laugh. He was standing in the back corner of the office with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, quietly taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. “None taken.” 

(At this point, he wouldn’t have minded a switch either.)

The mousy redhead at the desk looked frazzled. “Look, I’m very sorry, Mr. Stark,” she tried to explain, “but there’s nothing I can do. All our single dorms are fully booked.”

Even when the kid shoved a wad of cash at her tall enough to make James’ eyebrows rise, the RA held her ground. 

“It’s a first come, first serve policy,” she explained, her voice faltering, but words firm. “At least until something opens up. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it has to be.”

So there they were, a nineteen-year-old Air Force cadet from a working class family in Philly who had gotten into ‘fancy school’ on an ROTC scholarship, a 3.87 GPA, and a prayer, and a spoiled rich brat with a pile of daddy issues taller than the Bunker Hill Monument. The two were going to be stuck together for at least the next few weeks and neither of them was particularly thrilled about it.

**X**

Despite James’ initial concerns, rooming with Stark wasn’t actually that bad.

James had an additional scholarship that was dependent on his academic performance, so he joined several study groups to keep his grades up. Between ROTC, student government, and mock UN, along with his never-ending mountain of engineering coursework, he was rarely home.

Meanwhile, Tony might _look_ like a twelve-year-old, but that certainly didn’t get in the way of his budding popularity on campus. The kid was swimming in invites to different parties and events (though whether that was due to his own sharp wit and natural charisma, or simply his undeniable social status as the son of Howard Stark, James couldn’t tell). Either way, between James’ busy schedule and Tony’s avid social calendar, the two could go days without seeing each other, which suited them both just fine.

With all the partying, James figured his roommate’s grades must be suffering, but a curious glance at the quarterly report letter lying on Tony’s desk last week proved otherwise. The kid had straight A’s in all _seven_ of his classes—two more than James himself was taking.

(Alright, maybe he disliked Tony a little bit.)

**X**

James knew it wasn’t going to be a good day from the moment he woke up to see sunlight streaming in through the blinds. That just wasn’t supposed to happen at 5:45 a.m. in November. 

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of his twin-size bunk. The display on his alarm clock was silently blinking the very incorrect time of ‘12:00’. The previous night’s storm must have knocked out the power. He grabbed his watch from atop his desk to check the actual time and immediately breathed out a sigh of relief: 7:22. No morning run today, but he should still be able to make it to his eight a.m. class if he hurried.

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he snagged some clean clothes from his dresser and made a beeline to the adjoining bathroom. He pushed open the door and slapped on the light switch, but the second the room illuminated to reveal the scrawny figure sitting slumped on the floor between the toilet and the wall, James froze.

“Tony?” he asked in confusion. He hadn’t even heard the kid come home last night.

Without opening his eyes, Tony hummed a bit in response. Then all at once, he lurched forward and gagged, coughing up what looked to be mostly bile into the toilet bowl.

James grimaced. It was definitely not the first time he’d seen his roommate severely hungover, but it was the first time he’d seen it happen on a _Tuesday_. At the rate this kid was partying, he’d be lucky if he had any liver function left by the time he graduated.

With a sigh, James set his stack of clean clothes down on the sink counter. “Look man, I’m sorry, but I really gotta shower. Do you think you can give me, like, five minutes in here?”

Tony blinked up at him, seeming to process the question. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay…”

Doing his best to ignore the acidic smell of vomit, James stepped carefully around Tony into the small room. He flushed the toilet and grabbed the metal trash can from beside the sink while Tony pulled himself shakily to his feet. 

“Thanks dude. I promise I’ll be fast.” He passed the can off to Tony and watched him stumble back out of the room before shutting the door.

If the military had taught James nothing else, it was efficiency. He emerged ten minutes later—showered, dressed, and clean shaven—to find Tony sitting listlessly on the edge of his bed. The boy looked more dead than alive, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and sweat soaking through his thin gray t-shirt. Just the sight of him was practically an underage drinking PSA in itself.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” James announced as he grabbed his backpack from the floor.

Tony acknowledged him with a small grunt, but didn’t make any effort to move. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing through it carefully, warily eyeing the trash can on the floor in front of him. For once, James was glad he had an eight a.m. class to get to; he figured in about five minutes, he wouldn’t want to be here anyway.

In a spur of the moment gesture of kindness, James grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the case under his desk and tossed it onto Tony’s bed. “Feel better, dude,” he said on his way out the door.

**X**

Tuesday was always a busy day for James. He had back-to-back classes all morning, followed by a student council meeting in the afternoon and a mandatory ROTC training session. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time he made it back to the dorm, and by that time he’d honestly forgotten about that morning’s excitement until he opened the door to their room.

As miserable as Tony had appeared that morning, he looked decidedly worse now. He was lying curled up on the edge of his bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets, cheeks flushed and body shivering. The whole room carried the vague scent of vomit, though the trash can by the bed was currently empty.

“So… I take it this isn’t a hangover?” James deduced, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He plopped the paper sack of Taco Bell that was going to make up his dinner onto his desk, causing Tony’s face to scrunch up in displeasure. “Stomach flu?” he guessed.

Tony made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

“Think you got a fever?”

Another low noise issued from Tony, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, which James took to mean something along the lines of ‘don’t know, and don’t care.’ 

James hesitated a moment, unsure what to do. If his mother were here, she’d tisk her tongue and press her hand to the kid’s forehead to gauge his temperature, but somehow he didn’t see that going over too well with Tony. 

Instead, James checked his watch and sighed. “I can give you a ride to the student health center if you want,” he offered. “They don’t close until eight.”

“Don’ have to... ‘s just a bug,” Tony mumbled into the pillow, the most consecutive words James had heard from him all day. “I’ll be fine.”

The thing was, if Tony were one of his ROTC buddies, James would have dropped it right there. He’d never been particularly good at caretaking, and besides, he had a test coming up in his thermal-fluids class tomorrow morning that he should really be studying for. But something about the utter vulnerability Tony was displaying at the moment gave James pause. True, the kid might be a stuck-up asshole, but he was also just that— _a kid._ Only a few years older than James’ own kid-brother.

James looked at Tony appraisingly. “Can you handle a shower?”

“Huh?” Tony breathed.

“A shower,” James repeated. “Remember those? Water, soap, maybe even some shampoo if you’re feeling adventurous,” he said wryly. “That is, if you can do it without passing out.”

Tony fixed him with a rather pathetic glare. “Not gonna pass out.”

“You better not,” James quipped, crossing his arms and watching as Tony pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen more than enough white boys’ pasty asses this summer to last a lifetime. I have no desire to add another.”

(Tony lifted his middle finger weakly in his roommate’s direction.)

**X**

Over the sound of the shower running in the background, James ate his tacos and started flipping through his class notes in preparation for the test the next morning, but he was finding it unusually hard to focus. He kept listening for any sounds of distress from the bathroom, and after fifteen minutes had elapsed, he got up from his desk and crossed the room.

“Hey, I was serious about the ‘no passing out’ rule, Stark,” he hollered, rapping his knuckles against the door. “If you biff it in there, you’re on your own.”

As if on cue, a loud crashing sound immediately issued from inside the shower.

James’ eyes widened. He jiggled the door handle only to find it locked. “Tony?” he called. “Did you just fall?”

There was no response. 

James cursed. He grabbed a paper clip from his desk and quickly jimmied the flimsy lock open—a skill he’d learned from his cousins years ago—before pushing open the door. “Tony?” he called again.

Suddenly, a hand emerged and pulled the edge of the shower curtain back just enough for Tony to stick his head out the side. His face was totally straight, but there was a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Whoops, must’ve dropped the shampoo bottle,” he deadpanned. “Thank god I’m rooming with the US Coast Guard.”

 _“Air Force,”_ James corrected irritably. 

Tony pulled the curtain back closed. “Whatever.”

James rolled his eyes. “Next time I’m letting you drown, Stark...” he grumbled as he stepped back out of the room.

**X**

By the time Tony finally emerged from the bathroom an additional twenty minutes later (the latter ten of which he’d spent retching loud enough into the toilet that James had broken out his walkman and headphones), all traces of his earlier humor had dissolved. He moved shakily back to his bed and managed a couple sips of water before curling up on his side, the trash can within easy reach.

James tried to turn his attention back to his textbook, but Tony’s labored breathing as he drifted in and out of consciousness was making it difficult to focus. James kept stealing worried side glances back at the bed, wondering whether there was something else he should be doing.

At around nine-thirty, Tony jerked up suddenly and stumbled back to the bathroom to start dry-retching into the toilet again, and that was when James gave up trying to study for the night. He got up from his desk and pushed open the hastily half-closed door to the bathroom to wet a washcloth at the sink. When the mostly unproductive spasms ceased, he handed the cloth to Tony.

“Have you eaten anything today?” James asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Tony just grimaced and shook his head.

“Want some crackers or something?” he offered. “I can go raid the cafeteria soup station.” James might not have had as packed of a social calendar as Tony, but it wasn’t like he _never_ partied. He still knew the college hangover tricks.

Tony shook his head again, eyes closed. He seemed to lack the energy for words.

“Gatorade at least then?” James tried again. “All I’ve seen you drink today is one water bottle—you’ve gotta be getting dehydrated by now.”

Another head shake. “I’ll jus’ puke it up again…” Tony muttered. “Prob’ly a kidney too at this rate.”

“Well it’s better than puking up nothing,” James reasoned. Technically, he didn’t know if that was true or not, but he was tired of watching the kid be miserable. He moved back to the room to grab his keys and jacket. “What flavor do you want?” he called.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony croaked back from the bathroom. “They’re all terrible.”

“That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard you say,” James retorted. “Just for that you’re getting purple.”

And with that, he exited the dorm and shut the door behind him with a bang.

**X**

It turned out that the vending machine in the lobby outside the dining hall only sold three Gatorade flavors—blue, orange, and red. James bought a bottle of each, then slipped into the deserted cafeteria to snag a handful of individually-wrapped saltine packets from the clam chowder counter before heading back to the dorm. It took some cajoling, but he managed to get two full crackers and half a bottle of the sports drink into Tony before it came right back up. 

“Told you,” Tony rasped, spitting neon blue strings of bile into the toilet bowl. “Lost cause.”

“We’ll try red next,” James said, cracking open a fresh bottle. “One of them’s bound to stick.”

But red didn’t stay down any better, and neither did orange. James mooched a can of ginger ale and a quarter of a bottle of Pepto Bismol off a fellow cadet down the hall, but those fared no better. Even the cup of tap water James kept bullying him into taking sips from proved too much.

By midnight, Tony was still sitting slumped against the toilet on the bathroom floor, barely conscious, and James was at a total loss. “I think we have to go to the ER,” he admitted finally.

Without opening his eyes, Tony made a low noise of discontent in the back of his throat. His eyes were sunken in and he was alarmingly pale.

James let out a deep sigh. “Look, I’m sorry man, but we’re running out of options here. If you can’t even keep water down, you’re gonna need an IV.”

“No…” Tony lifted a shaky hand to try to take the cup of water James was holding. “I’ll-I’ll try again… just—” His words were cut off by a weak gag. 

James cursed under his breath and quickly steered Tony’s head back over the bowl. It turned out not to matter though because for the next several minutes of miserable retching, nothing came up. When it was finally over, Tony slumped back against the wall. His eyes were red and puffy, and James figured it was only dehydration that was keeping the tears from falling.

“Alright, that’s it,” James declared. He wrapped an arm around Tony to lever him upright, feeling the feverish heat coming off the kid in waves. “I’m not letting you die on our bathroom floor—we won’t get the deposit back.”

Tony breathed out the ghost of a laugh. “Jus’ tell Howard to write you a check at the funeral...” he murmured. “‘bout all he’s good for,” he added under his breath.

James’ brow furrowed but he chose not to comment. He hoisted Tony to his feet and bore most of the kid’s weight as he led him back to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m gonna get you a clean shirt, okay?”

Tony nodded, gazing blankly forward with half-lidded eyes. James ended up having to help the kid pull his sweat-soaked t-shirt off and guide his uncooperative arms into a fresh one, followed by his coat. When they got to the shoes, James didn’t even bother having Tony try himself. He just stuffed the kid’s feet into a pair of sneakers for him.

“I taught my little sister how to do this last summer,” James explained as he tied Tony’s laces, if only for something to fill the awkward silence. “She’s in first grade.”

Tony hummed lightly. “I never went.” 

James frowned, pulling the knot tight. “What do you mean?”

“Firs’ grade,” Tony clarified. “Or second. They started me in third.”

James smirked, imagining tiny five-year-old Tony filling out his multiplication tables in a classroom full of kids a full head taller than him. But his face quickly fell again as he suddenly realized a potential flaw in their plan. Tony may be in college, but he was still technically a minor. James wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to bring him off campus. “Shit, we’re gonna need to call your parents...” he said.

Tony’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m about to haul their fifteen-year-old son’s ass off to the hospital? Have you been following this conversation at all?”

“Oh. Jus’ leave a note for the RA.” Tony shrugged, listless. “They won’t care.”

James gave him a strange look. “Of course they’ll care—they’re your parents.”

Tony’s eyes were glassy with fever. “They won’t,” he croaked. “Been in boarding school since I was seven.” A shiver ran through his body and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Got pneumonia one year and was in the hospital eight days. Dad jus’ paid the school to handle everything—didn’ even visit.” A tear finally slipped down the side of his cheek. “I was twelve.”

James knew it was just the fever making Tony so forthcoming at the moment, but it didn’t make his words any easier to take. As much as James always complained about his own mother’s doting whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he couldn’t imagine being sick enough to be in the hospital and _not_ having anyone there for him. He didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, Tony broke the awkward silence. “Sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his palm against them. “‘M fine.” 

With a quiet sigh, James put his arm around Tony to help him back to standing. “You know what? We’ll just call them when we get there,” he said before leading Tony out to the car. 

**X**

The drive to the hospital was uneventful. Tony sat curled up in the passenger seat of James’ old beater of a Chevy Monza with an empty plastic bag in his lap, quiet except for the occasional whimper he’d let out when they’d hit a bump in the road. When they arrived, James got Tony checked in and situated in the waiting room with some forms to fill out before stepping out to the foyer to use the payphone.

James fished the scrap of paper containing the number that Tony had finally agreed to give him out of his pocket. He dialed it three times. Each time, the call was picked up by the answering machine. On the third round, he left the Starks a brief message stating which hospital Tony was at and how they could contact their son, then hung up quickly before he could add anything else he might come to regret.

He reentered the waiting area to find Tony sitting hunched forward in his chair, breathing shallowly and clutching the small kidney-shaped basin that the triage nurse had given him like his life depended on it. “What’d they say?” he murmured. James wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard just a hint of hopefulness in the kid’s voice. 

Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he slid into the seat beside him. “They didn’t answer,” he said guiltily.

Tony’s tone returned to flat: “Shocking.”

“They’re probably just asleep,” James reasoned, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “I left a message, but we can try again later.”

Tony hummed absently. Then all at once, he brought the small plastic container he was holding up to his mouth and threw up whatever little liquid remained in him. His hands were trembling so hard that James had to help him steady the basin.

When the heaving stopped, one of the nurses from the front desk exchanged the used basin for a clean one. Tony grunted in thanks, then looked up wearily and locked eyes with James. “You really don’ have to stay.”

James gave a tiny scoff. “What? You think I’d just leave you here to faceplant on the linoleum?”

Tony shrugged a bit. “‘S not like we’re friends, Jim.”

James pondered this for a few seconds before returning the shrug. “I guess you’re right.” He settled back in his chair and picked up a copy of Good Housekeeping from the stack on the waiting room table, flipping it idly open on his lap. “Too bad I’m invested now.”

**X**

It was around three a.m. by the time Tony’s name was called. He was taken back and briefly examined before getting hooked up to an IV line for fluids and antiemetics. The doctor ordered some bloodwork to be sure, but said that all signs pointed to a virus. As soon as they could get the vomiting under control and Tony’s vitals stabilized, he should be good to go.

While Tony dozed in and out of consciousness on the ER bed, fluids dripping steadily into his arm, James just sat there, silently mulling the events of the last sixteen hours or so over in his mind. It was weird seeing Tony like this—weak, and small, and just so undeniably _young._

James waited until the clock struck five before slipping quietly over to the phone located near the nurse’s station. This time, he dialed a different number—one he knew by heart. 

A familiar voice answered on the third ring: “Hello?”

Instant warmth flooded James’ chest at the sound. “Hey Ma,” he said softly.

“James?” His mother’s tone changed from puzzled to concerned in two seconds flat. “It’s so early, baby. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” he assured, the corners of his lips turning up into the smallest of smiles. “Just wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

“Well, you got me,” she laughed lightly. Over the line, James could hear her bustling around the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. “What do you need, baby?”

James hesitated a second, his gaze shifting back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “It’s nothing, just… I wanted to ask if I could invite someone home for Thanksgiving next week.” He shifted his gaze back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “I get the feeling he could really use it...”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day! Please consider leaving one below <3
> 
> Come and hang out on tumblr if you'd like! My url is [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/)


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